


Trustworthy

by SweetSorcery



Category: The Magnificent Seven (TV)
Genre: 19th Century, Angst and Feels, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Developing Friendships, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Kiss, First Time, Hurt/Comfort, Injury Recovery, M/M, Major Character Injury, Male Slash, Old West, Protectiveness, Romance, Slash, Trust Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-04
Updated: 2018-09-04
Packaged: 2019-07-06 18:02:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15891201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SweetSorcery/pseuds/SweetSorcery
Summary: A prisoner needs to be escorted, and Ezra is stuck accompanying Chris - who has made it very clear, early on in their acquaintance, that he doesn't trust him and thinks him a coward.(I know, the graphic violence warning is a weird one for me. Rest assured, it's brief and the target of it is the villain. This is another old, old story of mine.)





	Trustworthy

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: © of characters, locations, and some story lines used in fiction here - MGM, Trilogy, the Mirisch Group, CBS, and probably Turner Network and others; the author is merely playing and not making profit, and means no harm or infringement

Ezra never had been able to forget Chris Larabee's words that day at the Seminole village: "Don't ever run out on me again." They had felt like a threat. A warning. They had made it clear that, from then on in, Ezra need not expect to be trusted again. Anger had been there, too. Ezra still remembered the stormy blue of Chris' eyes - the only part of him that revealed his true feelings even when he seemed perfectly calm on the outside. The look in those eyes that day had felt like a punch in the guts.

Ezra nervously loosened the collar of his pristine white shirt. The thought of spending at least a week with Larabee - half of that time with him alone for company - did _not_ appeal. It was safe to assume that Larabee felt the same way about him. It wasn't as if Ezra could honestly blame him. He barely trusted himself most of the time. It was only with great reluctance that he had agreed to accompany Larabee on an undoubtedly hazardous trek across the Plains to Muerte. _Death_ in Spanish. A charming place, Ezra was certain. The town - only slightly smaller than Four Corners - was about to become host to a notorious gunslinger by the name of James Hadley. Chris and Ezra were to bring him there to stand trial for robbing the First National Bank in Muerte last year.

Chris Larabee had agreed in both their names. The 'why' had eluded Ezra until it became apparent there had been no alternative: J. D. couldn't leave his duties in Four Corners. Wilmington had gone off to visit one of his 'old friends' in Tombstone - a female friend, no doubt, and probably not so old either. Sanchez and Jackson were setting up some kind of community house in the centre of town and Tanner - Larabee's usual steady companion - had gone off to settle an old score somewhere down south.

"Well, it's all down to the dark stranger and yourself, Mr Standish. Make the best of it, or at least try to survive." Ezra sighed, seeking comfort in his mirror image. He suspected that a week's riding through country as inhospitable as his travelling companions would wreak havoc with his appearance. Not that there would be anyone to impress.

* * *

They got started early the next morning with the Judge handing over the prisoner and wishing them luck. Going by Hadley's appearance and pathetic snarling, the real hazards would lie in the journey itself.

"Charming company," Standish remarked, earning only the barest nod from Larabee. Hadley, however, grinned broadly. "So, what makes a gentleman like yourself turn to robbing banks?" Ezra asked. Hadley really didn't look the type - well dressed, clean shaven and with angelic blond curls, he looked more like a society boy than a criminal. 'Not that one necessarily precludes the other,' Standish thought.

Hadley informed his guards, "I like to know I can get away with it."

"It don't look to me like you did," Larabee said laconically, nodding towards Hadley's cuffs.

Ezra chuckled.

Hadley himself sneered menacingly and - looking squarely into Larabee's eyes - stated, "One day, I'm going to kill myself a legend, and I _will_ get away with it." With a dismissive sideways glance at Ezra, he added, "Who'd stop me?"

Chris Larabee didn't reply. He casually discarded his cheroot and mounted his horse. Apparently, he chose to ignore death threats issued on such a casual basis.

Ezra was beginning to feel yet more uncomfortable about the whole trip - something he hadn't expected possible. If there was going to be trouble, he was the last man Chris Larabee ought to be stuck with.

* * *

Time passed excruciatingly slowly, as the three men rode towards Muerte. They had put 2 days between themselves and Four Corners and, after journeying all day in the scorching sun, the night time chill was almost a relief.

Hadley turned out to be an exceptionally good horseman, in spite of the cuffs, so it was decided that he should stay right in between Ezra and Chris. He was deemed likely to try and escape if given even half a chance. There were times when they almost wished he would.

"Do you see it within your capabilities to shut up once in a while, Mr Hadley?" Ezra interjected into yet another stream of endless boasting and story-telling, surprised at his own slip into rudeness. The long ride was obviously getting to him.

Hadley grinned. "Bored, are you? You could always let me go on ahead, so you don't have to put up with my conversation."

"What conversation?" Ezra asked. "All I hear is a monologue, and an exceedingly dull one at that."

Ezra was growing more frustrated by the hour. The more Hadley rambled on, the quieter Larabee grew. In fact, he'd hardly spoken at all since they had started this trip. Wondering why he was never _that_ quiet when the others were around, Ezra felt a slight stab of pain without really knowing why. It was hardly a surprise that Larabee had nothing to say to him. Ezra regretted that, but knew he had no one but himself to blame for the chilly treatment. He also knew there was nothing he could ever hope to do about it. Even after just a few weeks of acquaintance, he knew there was no man more unforgiving than Chris Larabee.

The long ride went on without incident and things didn't change - Hadley talked, Chris was as silent as a stone, and Ezra was uncomfortable. He didn't like having so much time on his hands; it made him think too much.

"Time to set up camp for the night." Larabee's quiet voice interrupted his reverie. It was the first time he spoke since that day's ride had begun.

Ezra nodded and they brought their horses to a halt, dismounted, and then proceeded to help Hadley from his saddle.

"You fellas really could take the cuffs off me, you know. Makes riding damn hard."

Ezra pointed out, "You're not supposed to get an easy ride."

Hadley shot him a hateful look. "You could at least just tie one of my hands to the saddle knob so I can dismount on my own."

Larabee smiled his crazy smile. "Yeah, we could," he told Hadley, leaving no doubt that he had no intention of granting that wish.

"Son of a bitch!" Hadley spat and dropped to the ground, crossing his legs in a defiant gesture.

Ezra sighed, thinking about the Saloon back home... when had Four Corners become home? He thought of all the drunks he could be relieving off the last of their whiskey money, and the friendly poker games he could be playing with Buck, J. D. and the others. Instead, he was stuck between a man who could not shut up and one who barely spoke at all. It would be fine if Larabee would not ignore him entirely. Odd, how much one could admire somebody who felt little besides disgust towards one's person.

They proceeded to light their nightly campfire, and Chris proved once again that he was quite experienced at surviving in the wild. He prepared something astonishingly similar to a meal from a few things he retrieved from his pack. Beans were the only part of the dish Ezra could make out with any certainty. As for the rest...

"What is this, Mr Larabee?" he asked, poking at something reddish among the beans.

That insane smile again. "You don't want to know."

Ezra paled noticeably. No, chances were he wouldn't. Chris Larabee - aside from being notorious for a lot of things - was also known for consuming some odd things while out on the prairie. "I suppose not," Ezra admitted.

"How much longer?" Hadley asked.

"Until what, sir?" Ezra mocked, spooning some more of the interesting dish.

"I think he wants to know how long until he gets to enjoy the hospitalities of Muerte." Larabee stoked the fire. It was a rather chilly night.

Hadley gave them both a bored glare before dropping his plate carelessly by the fire and laying down on his side to go to sleep. That sulking child routine had something oddly unsettling about it. Both Ezra and Chris thought so, but they didn't share their thoughts with each other. They never did.

After a few minutes of uncomfortable silence, Ezra had emptied his plate and set it down by the side of his pack. When he looked up, he noticed Larabee staring at Hadley, who was lying curled up by the fire.

Chris seemed to be thinking hard about something. And whatever it was, it was worrying him. His eyes were narrowed, and he had forgotten to light the cheroot in his fingers.

Ezra finally became uncomfortable. "What is it, Mr Larabee?" he asked, barely loud enough to get the other man's attention.

Chris looked at him and, for a moment, his eyes held Ezra's. Then he murmured, sounding reluctant to speak at all, "He's going to try for it."

Ezra frowned. By the time Larabee had turned his attention back to the sleeping form of their prisoner, Ezra had mentally gone through a number of scenarios, all of which left him wanting to run right now - back to Four Corners and the relative safety of the Saloon. But he couldn't do that. He wouldn't run again. Not ever.

"I'll take the first watch," Chris announced. He always did, and Ezra wondered - not for the first time - whether he didn't stay awake during both their shifts anyway. He had dark rings under his eyes and seemed to have been very much on edge the last couple of days - not at all his usual confident and relaxed self. It didn't require much imagination to figure out why he would stay awake through Ezra's shifts as well.

Feeling miserable and lonely, Ezra said good night and lay down, waiting patiently for sleep to come. There was nothing else he could do, after all.

* * *

The call of a Coyote woke Ezra, just in time to watch Hadley aim Larabee's own gun at the sleeping man.

"Chris!" Ezra yelled, at the same time scrambling to his feet and stumbling towards Hadley, who immediately trained the weapon on him. Ezra ducked and rolled over, avoiding the first bullet altogether. For a split-second, he wondered how Hadley, still hand-cuffed, had managed to get the gun off Larabee, but then, there was no more time for thinking.

Larabee had finally woken up, rapidly moving out of the way of the second bullet, which put a hole through his bedroll - right where his head had been a moment earlier.

Ezra desperately tried to unsnap his Derringer, but it was impossible. Whether he was too nervous or whether it was simply not meant to be, it wouldn't slide from the holster underneath his sleeve. And it was too late.

Just as he reached Hadley - wrestling the gun from him was their last chance - the man took aim at Chris again; this time, there was nothing that could stop that bullet from entering Chris' body. Nothing besides Ezra throwing himself in front of it.

Everything went dark at the same moment the sharp pain penetrated his upper body like a red hot poker. It felt as if he was being ripped in half, and then all he heard was a pained gargle - his own, and all he felt was a solid body catching his fall and arms closing around him.

That was when he lost consciousness.

* * *

"Ezra?" The voice was familiar, but not the tone in which it spoke. "Ezra, you still with me? Say something!" Almost frantic this time.

Ezra attempted to speak, but all he could manage was a cough that felt like a canon was being shot from inside his chest. He groaned and decided not to try that again anytime soon.

Chris was sitting on the ground, holding him and being careful to avoid sudden movements while he took a look at the bullet wound. Ezra's face distorted into a grimace of pain, but he allowed no more than a whimper to escape his lips.

"Sorry." Holding his breath in concentration, Chris carefully undid the buttons of Ezra's shirt, parting the folds while making sure not to touch the wound. It was bad. Real bad. Ezra was losing a lot of blood, and the bullet was still inside him, too. "I gotta hurt you now," Chris warned, before reaching inside his pack for a strip of cloth. "We need to stop the bleeding." Determined not to pay attention to the inevitable reaction that was about to follow, he pressed the cloth to Ezra's chest. Hard.

The tormented wail tore through Chris as if it was his own wound. 'And it should have been,' he thought. "Serves you right, dammit!" he accused Ezra aloud, hating himself for inflicting further pain on the injured man. "What the hell were you thinkin', jumping in front of a bullet like that? Wasn't even your bullet, you selfish bastard!"

Ezra would have laughed, if doing so wouldn't have meant his certain death. Instead, he lay as still as he could while Larabee threw curses and accusations at him and pushed down on his wound as if he was trying to put his hand right through his body.

Chris knew exactly what was making him so angry, and it was no fault of Ezra's. Of all the things he would have expected the gambler to do, this was not one of them. But there was no time to think about that. He had to fix the wound up and quickly, because as far as he could tell, Ezra was on the verge of bleeding to death. He wondered if that bastard Hadley had hit an artery. At least Ezra had been hit left of his collarbone, just far enough away from his heart to give him a fighting chance.

Ezra's green eyes filled with tears of pain when Chris moved his upper body again, just enough to support him with his knees. He needed both his hands to bandage the wound. Only with what? He had no more spare shirts with him. Ezra would have, of course.

"Sorry about this, Ezra." Chris reached for Ezra's pack and pulled a - not surprisingly - clean white shirt from it. He tore off a strip and pressed it against the wound, replacing the blood-soaked cloth. "You'll probably kill me for this later on." Chris didn't know whether the gambler could hear him at all, but he had to try and keep him conscious, if he could. A faint whimper came from the injured man. Chris tore the rest of the shirt apart and used some more fabric to wind it around Ezra's chest and over his right shoulder, just covering the wound.

"You must..." Ezra stammered, his breath cut off by an attack of nausea.

Chris waited patiently for him to regain his bearings.

"Go... after him."

Chris shook his head without a second thought. "Not 'til you're taken care of."

Ezra groaned in pain and frustration. Would this stubborn man never listen to anyone?

"Sorry, Ezra, but I can't take advice from a man who'd do somethin' this stupid!"

Was Larabee reading his mind now? Ezra didn't dare move or talk again just yet. Besides, he had a suspicion that there was nothing he could say to make him see reason.

"I think I may have stopped the bleeding. But you'll have to rest before I can take the bullet out." Larabee reached back for his blanket and rolled it up. He placed it on the ground next to himself and gently shifted Ezra from his embrace to lie flat. He kept apologising for the pain he was causing, and Ezra blinked away the tears filling his eyes and nodded dazedly.

Soon, he closed his eyes and drifted into an uneasy sleep, temporarily escaping the pain. He never saw the worry on Chris' face, nor was he aware of being covered gently with another blanket.

* * *

Chris spent the rest of the night cursing himself. It was his fault that Hadley had been able to get away. And worse, it was because of him that Ezra was now critically wounded. If he had trusted Ezra, if he hadn't kept watch during both their shifts for the past two nights, if he hadn't fallen asleep during his own shift because he was so darn tired, if... if... if...

He watched over Ezra, who was sleeping restlessly by the fire, right by his side. Chris had never been able to trust him. He was fairly sure he wouldn't have called him a friend. He had thought him a coward, and he did not make friends with cowards. A coward... Chris groaned. How could he have been so wrong? But one thing he had never thought Ezra to be was stupid. He had to know full well that Chris Larabee thought little of him. And yet, he had been willing to give his own life to save his. That was the deed of a true friend. Chris looked at the sleeping man as if he was seeing him for the first time. It felt like a dream - there was a stranger, lying injured, who had got in the way of a bullet meant for him. A bullet he would have welcomed into his heart not too long ago; only a few short weeks ago in fact. That was when his life had changed.

Shifting closer to Ezra, Chris leaned on one elbow, facing him. For all that time since Sarah's and Adam's deaths, he had been alone. That was the way he'd wanted it. He hadn't wanted responsibilities, hadn't wanted to care. It was the only way to avoid pain; he had figured that out long ago. Then, out of nowhere, had come the others, along with his old friend Buck, whom he'd damn near forgotten about, so wrapped up had he been in his own grief; Buck - whom he'd possibly even avoided because he brought back memories of his life before his family had been murdered.

Chris realised, for the first time, that maybe he was a bit of a coward himself. He was afraid of life and of caring for anyone. But those people, the friends he had made such a short time ago, yet considered the most trustworthy people he'd ever meet, had made him abandon his solitude. The fear of losing one of them was carefully tucked away in the back of his mind, because he knew he might not be able to cope with another loss of a loved one. Not without losing his mind.

He shivered, even though the night air was not unusually cold. He reached for another blanket and drew it around himself.

His eyes came to rest on Ezra again, taking in the quivering lips parted to allow irregular, panting breaths into his lungs. He decided he didn't know Ezra at all. He'd judged him based on a single incident. He owed Ezra. Not simply a thank you. He owed him emotions - especially the kind he kept bottled up so tightly: friendship, and trust, and affection. Chris prayed he would get the chance to make it up to him. If Ezra were to die, the guilt would crush him. He spent a couple of hours turning over worst possible scenarios, gripped by the type of fear to which he had thought himself immune. But his past grief and loneliness had apparently not dulled it entirely.

Touching the half-exposed, bandaged chest lightly, Chris tried to feel Ezra's heartbeat. When he wasn't immediately able to, he swallowed a rising feeling of panic, before bending down lower to check whether Ezra was still breathing. When cool air tickled his ear, he smiled in relief. At least until it occurred to him - it was too cool.

"Ezra! Ezra, wake up!" he called out. And not waiting for the man to come to, he tore the blanket off himself, drew Ezra into his arms so his head lay back against his shoulder, and wrapped the blanket back around both of them, proceeding to rapidly rub the other's skin through his clothes, desperately trying to warm him up. He was careful not to touch the wound but, even so, Ezra groaned in pain with every sudden movement. "I'm sorry, my friend, but you need to get warm, and fast," Chris explained.

Ezra couldn't be sure what Chris had said, but he thought he had heard the word _friend_ somewhere in there. He vaguely murmured agreement, assuming he was dreaming anyway.

Chris was going crazy. He seemed unable to warm Ezra up at all. He shifted them both so that Ezra was closer to the fire. His arms closed around him as tightly as he dared hold him. It took a long time before Chris could detect any kind of increase in Ezra's body temperature. He had intentionally not removed the jacket, waistcoat and the remaining shreds of shirt, even though that would normally have been advisable. But thanks to Ezra's extravagant tastes, his clothing should make a good heat conductor - pure wool and silk, only the finest. Chris would have smiled, if the occasion had been different.

"You sure have good taste, Ezra." He began rubbing the wool of the jacket harder against Ezra's skin, his shoulders and arms, trying to avoid too much movement to his wound.

"Thank you... Mr... Larabee." Ezra squinted, half-turning his head.

Chris grinned. "Of all the things you choose to hear..."

Ezra smiled weakly before falling into a light slumber.

* * *

Nearly half an hour later, and Chris had only just stopped rubbing Ezra's skin, the man seemed to finally be resting easily. To avoid any more unnecessary movement, Chris had decided not to place him down on the ground again, but to instead continue holding him. With his saddle behind his back, he had enough support to keep Ezra still within his embrace.

On an impulse, Chris touched Ezra's hair, stroking a few strands back. He thought about how soft it was and how sleek. The campfire made its chestnut tone sparkle with tiny fire lights. 

Shifting, suddenly uncomfortable, Chris changed his tender caress to a firm stroke of Ezra's forehead. That was when he felt that the man was burning up now. "Oh God, why is this happening?" he groaned. Of course, the bullet was still inside Ezra's wound. "Ezra? Can you hear me?" he said softly. No response. "Ezra." A little louder now. "Ezra, I need you to wake up. Please."

Ezra moaned. It sounded almost childlike - as if he was complaining that his dreams were being disturbed.

"Ezra!" Chris repeated more firmly.

Nodding, Ezra acknowledged that he was conscious.

"The bullet. It has to come out. You're running a fever, and there's not much I can do about it as long as you still have that bullet inside of you."

"Understood," Ezra's normally firm voice sounded shaky and faint, but at least Chris knew he could go ahead and do what had to be done.

"It will hurt," he stated, just for the sake of saying something. It wasn't as if Ezra didn't know that.

"Do it."

Nodding, Chris felt himself break into sweat. He hated having to do this. A bullet being removed crudely, with a hot knife and without the benefit of unconsciousness, was something one never forgot. He, for one, could remember the torment vividly from personal experience.

Gently, he lay the feverish body in his arms on the cool ground and covered him with a blanket. Then he pulled out a water flask and quickly rinsed a bowl with it before half filling it. He moved the wire contraption he'd used earlier for cooking back above the fire and set the bowl on top of it. Soaking some of the remaining pieces of Ezra's shirt in the water, he waited for it to come to a boil. Then he removed the bowl from the grate and set it down next to himself. There was nothing left to do now but prepare the knife. He hated this part. and if he could have plunged it into his own body rather than Ezra's, he would have gladly done it.

Chris spoke softly to Ezra while he let the red-hot flames of the fire lick the blade. Finally, he turned and - kneeling close by Ezra's side - he removed the bandages from his shoulder to reveal the wound. As far as Chris could tell, it wasn't infected badly, but it needed to be cleaned and sterilised immediately.

"Want a stick or something? We just have enough whiskey for the wound," Chris said apologetically. Ezra shook his head, his body stiffening in preparation for the inevitable pain. "Okay, pard, hold on!" Chris swallowed hard and, pressing down on Ezra's opposite shoulder, cut into the wound.

Tears shot into Ezra's eyes, but he was determined not to pass out or scream. Chris Larabee, he was certain, would do neither. And he would quite possibly tear a bullet out of his own body if need be. So Ezra squeezed his eyes shut and held his breath, his hands forming fists, with his nails digging into the soft flesh of his palms, breaking the skin in one place.

"Got it!" Chris declared, removing the bullet with a swift cut and withdrawing the knife, immediately replacing it with the boiled fabric and pressing it down on the wound hard. "You okay?" he asked, frowning when he saw how pale Ezra looked in the light of the rising sun.

Ezra wanted to nod, but wound up shaking his head instead. And then, he passed out.

It was probably best. Chris took the opportunity to dab the wound with the cloth dowsed with whiskey, and bandaged his shoulder again properly. Then he cleaned the bloody knife and bowl.

He sat back against his saddle and pulled Ezra into his arms once again, cradling him like a baby. He was growing used to that, and he wasn't sure whether he did it for Ezra's comfort or for his own. All he could do now was wait. And hope for the fever to disappear and for Ezra to heal himself.

* * *

When Ezra woke hours later, he felt a weight press down on his head. Confused and weak, he murmured in protest, until he realised that Chris had dozed off, and his head had fallen forward, coming to rest against that of the man in his arms. Ezra smiled then, realising he felt better.

Chris - plagued by nightmares - sensed Ezra waking up. His eyes opened slowly. "Ezra..." he murmured, then he remembered the events of the night and repeated the name, worry evident in his voice that time. He lifted Ezra's chin, trying to assess his state by looking into his eyes.

"I feel better," Ezra answered the unasked question with a slight tremor in his voice. Chris' fingers touching his face and the concerned look in those cool blue eyes were confusing. "Thank you, Mr Larabee. For everything you did for me last night."

Chris shivered, but he was too relieved to wonder about his reaction. "I'm just glad you're back with the living. What the hell did you think you were--" He stopped himself when he saw the hurt expression in the other's eyes - beautiful emerald eyes in the faint morning light, still glistening from the remnants of his fever and suppressed tears. "I'm sorry," he said, pressing his lips to Ezra's forehead in an unprecedented gesture of tenderness he had _never_ displayed towards any of his friends.

Ezra gasped, causing Chris to draw back quickly.

"I don't know why I did that, Ezra," Chris assured him. "Relief, I guess."

"It's quite all right, Mr Larabee, I understand," Ezra lied, his heart pounding so hard, he was afraid he'd start the bleeding up again.

Chris smiled uncertainly. He was glad Ezra did, because he was finding it difficult to explain his own actions to himself.

"Hadley..." Ezra spoke into Chris' reverie. "What are we going to do about him?"

"Nothing." The word tumbled out, but Chris realised that thinking harder about his answer would not have led him to any other decision.

Ezra, however, was utterly confused. "Whatever do you mean, Mr Larabee? Surely, we must find and apprehend him, especially now. He is likely to go out of his way to make good on his promise to kill you."

Chris shook his head. "What we _must_ do is get you back to Four Corners as quickly as possible." He placed a hand on Ezra's bandage, wrapping his arm over his shoulder in the process. "I may have fixed you up for now, but I don't want to be takin' any chances. We gotta get Nathan to take a good look at you."

Ezra smiled, indulging Chris. "I assure you, Mr Larabee, I will be perfectly fine. If my memory does not deceive me, you took very good care of me last night."

Feeling a little too warm - probably from having held his feverish friend in his arms all night - Chris shrugged. "I hope so. It's the least I could do, considering what you did." He frowned when Ezra's whole body went stiff in his arms.

"I acted on instinct, Mr Larabee. Nothing more."

Chris searched Ezra's eyes, hoping to see the reason for Ezra's defensiveness, but the gambler was hiding behind a blank stare.

Quickly diverting his gaze and changing the subject, Ezra asked, "When will we be getting on the way?"

"As soon as you think you're able to ride." Chris slowly and somewhat reluctantly allowed Ezra to withdraw from the support of his arms. In doing so, he noticed the angry red mark on the inside of Ezra's palm. There was a small but still open wound there he hadn't seen before. "Your hand - when did that happen?"

Ezra hid his palm from view. "I'm afraid that is merely a result of my lack of self-discipline when you removed the bullet last night."

" _What?_ " Chris couldn't believe his ears, suddenly infuriated with Ezra for not allowing himself even such a perfectly human reaction. He was, in fact, too angry to admit that he might act in a similar fashion under the circumstances. "Show me that!" he demanded in a voice that did not allow argument.

Ezra flinched, moving away a little even while allowing Chris to take his hand and hold it up to get a better look at it. He noted the flash of concern in the usually cold blue eyes and raised an eyebrow in surprise. "As I said, it's no--" The words were cut off by the gasp emanating from Ezra's lips as he watched Chris raise the hand to his lips and press his mouth to the broken skin. He had no chance to recover from his surprise, because now Chris proceeded to suck on the small wound. After what seemed like a long time, he spat out some blood, along with any dirt that may have entered the wound during the night.

"Oh, Lord!" Ezra exclaimed before he could stop himself. The moment Chris' lips touched his palm, and his tongue snaked out briefly before he began to suck, Ezra was faced with an astonishing discovery - that gesture was the most arousing thing he had ever encountered.

Chris looked at Ezra when he heard the surprised cry. "We're all out of whiskey, so there's no other way to clean that. Sorry."

"Uh..." For once severely lacking eloquence, Ezra nodded. "I see." Inside him, everything was in uproar. His mind was screaming at him that what was happening to him was a very bad idea. His heart was telling him not to go down that road, because he would inevitably get hurt. He might be wishing that Chris' concern meant something more than gratitude for having been spared Hadley's bullet, but it was utterly ridiculous! It was bad enough to admire a man who hated you; it was simply insane to feel anything more for such a man.

"Ezra? You okay?" Chris frowned. He had addressed the other man at least three times, but the expressive green eyes had been staring into nothingness; Ezra seemed miles away.

"What did you say, Mr Larabee?" Ezra decided to pull himself together.

"I just asked if you're up to ridin'. But I guess not, huh?"

Ezra forced a smile, avoiding Chris' eyes, now that they were fooling him with their concern. He began to slowly stand up, needing to put some distance between them. "I assure you, I'm fine. We can get started right away."

Chris watched Ezra scramble to his feet and sway a little. "Careful, you've lost a lot of blood. You'll be feeling dizzy."

"I _said_ I was fine!" Ezra exclaimed angrily. He took a deep breath, willing himself to get steady on his feet. But no degree of willpower was able to deceive his body into forgetting how sick he still was. Everything around him went black, his legs gave in, and he was overcome with nausea.

Chris was up and by his side in an instant, having anticipated this. He wanted to help Ezra, to start making up for the past, but he wasn't sure what to do after Ezra's outburst before. Why was he so angry?

It didn't matter right then what either of them thought or felt, because Ezra fell, and Chris was there to catch him. And this time, when Chris found Ezra in his arms, all his concern from the previous night came back. With it, it brought tenderness. It was a terrifying, dangerous combination.

"Sorry," Ezra whispered, clutching Chris' shoulders. His head fell against the broad chest, and he was unconscious again.

Chris held him as tight as he dared, and he knew it wasn't tight enough. He knew that once Ezra's physical wound had healed, he would need to work on his emotional ones. And his own in the process. He had not wanted to feel this way again, but with Ezra in his arms, Ezra's hair against his face and Ezra's too fast, irregular heartbeat so close to his own, he knew he'd never had a choice.

* * *

When Ezra came to, once again finding himself held by Chris, he felt nothing but shame for his weakness. Once again - his damn weakness. What had happened since only yesterday? That solid wall he had built around himself had protected him just fine. He may have been in pain, but at least his dignity had been intact; he'd kept the pain to himself. And now, here he was, clutching to the man who had been his main reason for building that wall in the first place. And his nice sturdy fortress lay in ruins about his feet. He wanted to die. 

Chris felt the tension creep back into Ezra's body. He knew that, inevitably, Ezra would tear himself away from him and the barriers between them would return. He could not let that happen. Hold on, Chris, he told himself. Don't let go of him again.

Not allowing Ezra to move out of his embrace, Chris lowered his head while placing a warm hand against Ezra's nape. He raised the other's face to his own, saw the vulnerability in the green eyes, and moved to kiss him.

Frantically, Ezra pushed against his chest, staring wide-eyed at Chris. His anger and confusion warring with need, he said, not nearly as firmly as he would have wanted, "We should get on our way now."

Taking a deep breath and fighting down his disappointment, Chris just nodded. He rose, carefully helped Ezra to his feet, then turned and walked away to gather their supplies and pack up.

Trembling all over, Ezra simply stood and watched. He reached for the reins of his horse, needing some kind of support but not wanting to allow Chris to give it to him. Why on Earth would Chris Larabee want to kiss him? He still hadn't reconciled the man's caring last night with the past nature of their relationship. Chris' hatred had hurt badly enough. There was no way he would allow Chris to hurt him even more by giving him false hope. But why should he? What possible motive could Chris have for doing so? Was _he_ for once feeling guilty and confused enough to actually believe he wanted Ezra?

Ezra pressed his palm to his forehead and groaned softly. His head was throbbing, and he felt sick. Not to mention scared.

Chris turned when he heard the sound, but he knew better than to offer his support this time. His eyes met Ezra's and he saw his own fear and confusion mirrored in them. This would take time and effort. And he was the one who had to gain Ezra's trust now, because the other way around, it had been proven. Sighing, he picked up both their packs and moved towards their horses, avoiding further eye contact.

Suppressing his instinctive reaction to flee when Chris approached, Ezra stayed in his place, concentrating on how to get on his horse with his shoulder and chest hurting like hell. He watched Chris strap his pack and bedroll to the saddle of his horse and decided there was only one way to go about it. Ignore the pain.

With his left foot in the stirrup, Ezra reached for the saddle horn, taking a deep breath. He pulled himself up, whimpering when his wound stretched and the bandage cut into his skin.

Chris wanted to help. There was no need for Ezra to do this by himself. But he kept to one side, waiting until Ezra had made it into the saddle before mounting his own horse.

They exchanged a glance, Ezra nodded, and they got on their way.

* * *

If the past two days had seemed like a week, this one felt like a year.

Chris wanted to go slow, but Ezra was continually getting ahead of him. He thought about warning him that he shouldn't ride too fast; it might reopen his wound. But each time he was about to speak, he thought better of it, knowing instinctively that Ezra didn't want to talk. It wouldn't have made any difference anyhow - the gambler could be every bit as pig-headed and stubborn as he was himself.

All day long, Ezra's mind kept ticking over. Why had Chris tried to kiss him? Neither gratitude nor guilt seemed like sufficient reasons. Once in a while, a silly little thought nagged at him - perhaps there was no ulterior reason? Perhaps Chris was actually beginning to feel some of the attraction Ezra had harboured for him since the very beginning? Perhaps the events of the previous night had simply given him an insight into his own feelings? Ridiculous!

And then there was the fact that Chris Larabee was not a man who would go ahead and kiss just anyone - let alone one of his associates - simply on account of a spark of attraction. The man thought everything through. He had principles and priorities, and even with any of the others, he would not risk the dynamic of their little group in such a way. So why would he go ahead and do it with Ezra of all people? It was maddening enough to cause Ezra's head to damn near explode.

Around midday, they stopped briefly for a bite to eat and to stretch their legs. Again, Ezra did not ask for help to dismount and mount his horse, and Chris didn't offer. The afternoon went much the same way as the morning. And neither of them came to any kind of decision as to what to do or what to make of the other's behaviour.

Close to nightfall, Chris began to change direction slightly. When Ezra looked at him questioningly, he said, "We're getting low on water. The only watering hole between here and town is nearby."

Ezra nodded. He had a bad feeling about this, but he couldn't fix the cause of it.

They made it just on the verge of darkness. It was a nice spot, if either of them had been in the mood to appreciate it. The small lake was crystal clear and surrounded by sparse shrubs and small groups of trees.

Chris found a spot close to the water's edge and got a fire started.

Feeling useless, Ezra watched for a moment before announcing, "I think I will go for a stroll and get cleaned up. I'm feeling decidedly filthy."

Chris nodded, watching Ezra go to his pack to retrieve some clothing. He saw the frown when the search was unsuccessful and explained, "I had to use your last shirt for bandages. Sorry."

Ezra looked at him curiously. He thought he saw a ghost of a smile playing around Chris' lips and smiled back, just for a split-second. "Never mind. I shall wash the one I'm wearing right now."

"Ezra?" Chris started, wondering if he should speak up. When the other man gave him a questioning look, he said, "Be careful." And after a moment's pause. "Please."

Suppressing another unwelcome warm feeling, Ezra nodded, not taking the opportunity to tell Chris to mind his own business. He was beginning to feel like a fool for snapping at him for no good reason anyway. Besides, after Chris had spent all night bandaging him up and taking care of him, he probably had the right to tell him to be careful. "I will be, Mr Larabee."

Chris swallowed, looking down. "Okay. I'll make us something to eat. " When he looked up, he saw that Ezra had already turned and left.

Ezra walked about a hundred yards away from their camp site around the lake, before he found a secluded spot and began to remove his jacket and shirt carefully. Chris had done a pretty good job with the bandage, by the looks of it. He was going to be careful not to ruin his efforts.

Removing the rest of his clothing, Ezra decided that cooling down was just what he needed. Perhaps it would even help him clear his mind somewhat. He immersed himself in the water, which was glittering like silver in the moonlight. He was careful not to let the bandage get wet, since they were out of shirts and therefore out of medical supplies.

Once he was done washing as much of himself as possible without disturbing his wound, Ezra emerged a little refreshed, if chilly. He dipped his shirt in the lake, drawing it through the crystal waters a few times, before he wrung it out and dressed again, covering his upper body with his jacket. Soaking wet shirt in hand, he made his way back to where he knew a cosy fire would be waiting for him. As would Chris. As would an evening of uncomfortable silence.

He didn't get far before he was struck down by a metal bar - perhaps a shotgun barrel - slamming against the backs of his knees. He fell, rolling sideways to avoid landing on his wound.

Hearing laughter and knowing it certainly wasn't Chris', he looked up to find himself staring into Hadley's face. "I should have known," he said, his voice far more stable than he felt.

"If you had, you wouldn't have gone off without your buddy, would you?" Hadley grinned. "Was it worth it?" he asked, his tone sour.

"What are you talking about?" Ezra asked, thinking hard about how he was going to overpower Hadley when he was lying helplessly on the ground, clutching his wound.

Hadley sighed. "Getting yourself shot up for Larabee? You fool! The guy doesn't even talk to you if he can avoid it. Ya should have let me kill him. I'd probably let you go afterwards." With a snort, he said, "Can't do that now, mind you. You got in the way and interfered with my plans, you son of a bitch!"

Ezra knew he was in serious trouble. He had no weapon, no strength to defend himself, and no hope of alerting Chris, either. He was too far away. He watched in horror as Hadley raised his shotgun, took a step back and, laughing, aimed it at Ezra laying helplessly on the ground. Closing his eyes, Ezra tried to find comfort in the fact that, at least this way, he wouldn't have to put his crumbling world back together.

* * *

When Ezra heard the shot but didn't feel the pain to go with it, he opened his eyes, only to watch Hadley's lifeless body drop to the ground in front of him.

Chris stood a few feet away, looking like a vengeful, black-clad angel in the silver moonlight. He was still aiming his gun at Hadley when he slowly began to walk towards the motionless heap on the ground. He didn't speak. He didn't look at Ezra. He was totally intent on Hadley, and the fierce look in his eyes was downright frightening.

Ezra scrambled to his feet clumsily, just in time to see Chris step next to Hadley's body and point the gun to his chest. "He's dead," Ezra said, his voice a little shaky. He figured Chris might not have been able to see the gaping head wound from his vantage point. It was quite dark.

But Chris said grimly, "I know." And then he emptied his gun into Hadley's body, firing at him over and over until the shots reverberated in Ezra's aching head like thunder.

"Stop it!" he called out, but Chris finished the round, dropped his gun, and reached for Hadley's shotgun, aiming it at Hadley's head to continue the pointless, horrific barrage.

When Ezra's horrified whimper made its way into Chris' consciousness, he turned, looking as pale and sick as Ezra himself did.

"Please, Chris. Just stop," Ezra pleaded. He moved to take the weapon from Chris' shaking fingers and found it was given up easily enough. Knowing they might still need it before getting back home, Ezra resisted the urge to throw it into the lake.

Chris just stood there like a statue, staring down at the bullet-ridden body at his feet. "He ain't gonna hurt you again, Ezra," he said softly. "Never."

Ezra clutched at his arm, drawing him away. "I know, Chris. I know."

Nodding, Chris allowed himself to be led back to their camp site, where he sat and took the water flask Ezra offered to him. "Wonder if we should take him back to the judge," he said, his voice steady enough. He didn't appear to be in shock as Ezra had at first feared.

Ezra raised an eyebrow. "I'm not sure that's a good idea, Chris."

After a moment's confusion, Chris nodded. "I see what you mean." He gulped down some more water. "Wish we had some of that whiskey left."

"Me too." Ezra sighed. He looked at Chris from across the fire, realising that he hardly knew the man at all. Each time he thought he had an inkling of what Chris Larabee was all about, something happened that revealed a whole new layer. It was as fascinating as it was frightening. This particular layer was the most frightening one he had seen yet.

For the first time, Ezra gave some real thought to just what Chris might do if he ever found the killer of his wife and son. Heavens above help the man who'd taken those he loved if he did, because after what Chris had just done... Ezra's jaw dropped and an odd sound escaped him.

"Ezra?" Chris looked up from the flames he'd been staring at for several minutes. "You okay?"

Okay... was he okay? Ezra shook his head, but thought that yes, he was. "I'm fine." He saw the relief in Chris' eyes, saw how they softened when he looked at him. "Why, Chris?"

Chris swallowed. "I'm not sure you'd believe me if I told you."

"Why don't you try?" Ezra got up and went to sit by Chris' side.

"God, I want to tell you, Ezra. I want you to know..." Chris ran his fingers through his hair. The blond strands were highlighted by the warm glow of the flames, and Ezra found his eyes fixed on them, fascinated by how soft they looked. "I'm afraid," Chris finally admitted.

Ezra smiled. "Chris Larabee - afraid? You'll forgive me if I find that hard to believe."

"Oh, believe it." Chris returned the smile, and when his eyes met Ezra's, neither of them looked away. "I've been so wrong about you, Ezra," Chris said softly. "I was unfair, stupid, unforgiving. All the things I've always been, only I'm not sure I ever seriously hurt anyone by being that way. I've been a terrible friend to Buck, but Buck never keeps anything inside. He just has it out with me, even if it costs the both of us a few bruises and black eyes." He smiled and shrugged.

Ezra nodded, letting him know he was going to listen to whatever he wanted to tell him.

"What I'm tryin' to say, Ezra..." Chris set down the water flask he'd been holding onto, turning towards his friend so he could face him properly. "I never gave you any real chance. Deep down, I'm sure I've known we could all count on you, but I'm too damn pig-headed to admit to myself when I've been wrong. And have I ever been wrong about you!"

"You've already said that, Chris." Ezra smiled.

"Sorry." Chris groaned. "I wish I had your way with words. It sure would help here."

"I think you're doing just fine."

When Chris looked straight into Ezra's eyes, he saw the gambler's words confirmed there. He reached for Ezra's hand, hoping he wasn't ruining anything. But the other's trembling hand settled comfortably into his palm, and he held it warmly between both of his.

"I've never been any good at sayin' how I feel," Chris said. "And I think since Sarah and Adam have gone, I've been worse. Buck wanted to be there for me, but I didn't let him. And I hadn't met anyone since who meant a damn thing to me."

Ezra placed his free hand on top of Chris', stroking it gently in encouragement.

Looking deep into Ezra's eyes, Chris admitted, "When I realised I felt somethin' for you, Ezra, I had already made up my mind about you, and I wasn't going to let myself get attached to someone I didn't trust. I thought you might run out on me anytime, and I didn't wanna take that chance." He sighed. "Does any of that make any damn sense to you?"

"It's beginning to. Astonishingly." Ezra smiled, his heart feeling lighter than it had for a very long time.

"I'm glad." Chris chuckled, but grew serious again instantly. "You remember what I said to you at the Seminole village?"

Ezra flinched at the memory. "How could I forget? You said, 'Don't ever run out on...'" Pause. "'... me again.'" He blinked.

"It wasn't just about leaving all of us in a tight spot, Ezra. I didn't want you leaving _me_ again, but I always felt that I couldn't be sure. Damn, Ezra, I've been wanting to trust you so much!"

Gaping, Ezra just stared at Chris.

"Say something," Chris pleaded. "Do you think _you_ could ever trust a stupid son of a bitch like me with your heart?"

Ezra made a soft, surprised sound. "You want my heart?"

Chris smiled, hesitant and unsure. "I want all of you, Ezra. Your heart, your soul, your mind. Your body, too." He gave Ezra a wink and a smile which went straight to the gambler's groin.

Then, Chris pulled one hand out of their warm tangle of fingers, and placed it on the side of Ezra's face. "When I thought I might lose you last night, I damn near went mad. And with _him_ showin' up again... I think I actually did." He said more softly, "God, I'm glad I followed you, Ezra. I'm not gonna lose anyone else I love."

Closing his eyes and taking a shuddering breath, Ezra let that sink in, before he once again locked eyes with Chris. "If you want me, Chris, you won't ever have to worry about me running out on you."

Chris' eyes lit up, and all the uncertainty and tension left his body. "You're gonna give me that heart of yours, Ezra?"

Smiling, Ezra shifted closer, placing his own hand on Chris' and holding it more firmly against his cheek. "And all the rest of me, too. But for now, I think you should start with that kiss I so foolishly denied you earlier."

Positively beaming, Chris leaned forward, and this time when his lips neared Ezra's, he found that the luscious mouth he'd been wanting so much was offered to him willingly.

Their lips met with incredible tenderness, but even the soft touch inflamed them both beyond their wildest expectations. When Ezra's lips parted in sweet surrender, Chris instantly became more forceful, his tongue finding its counterpart and sliding wetly against it while his lips crushed Ezra's fiercely.

The by now familiar embrace Ezra found himself in took on a whole new meaning, and he responded to Chris' passion with near desperation. Clutching at the other's black shirt, he was unwilling to allow a hair's width of space between them. He sucked the questing tongue further into his mouth, causing a deep groan which could have originated with either of them. And when his arms went around Chris' neck, he felt himself lowered onto the ground and pinned down by the lean muscles and unexpected warmth of Chris' body.

"Ezra," Chris moaned, all his long suppressed desires making themselves known with a vengeance. His hands found their way beneath Ezra's fine coat, immediately encountering warm, bare skin - of course, he wasn't wearing the wet shirt. Chris used one hand to support himself while the other one slowly moved upwards over the firm curve of Ezra's stomach and to the hard muscles of his chest. And that was when he touched the bandage.

"What?" Ezra whimpered when Chris drew back.

"We can't do this." When Chris saw the disappointment in Ezra's now burning green eyes, he quickly added, "Not right now. You have to heal first, because I'm not taking chances with you."

"Lord have mercy!" Ezra exclaimed breathlessly. "Would it make any difference if I told you that I'd gladly take the chance?"

Chris shook his head, smiling. He pulled Ezra up and into his arms and began stroking over his hair soothingly until they had both reclaimed some of their senses. "This is temporary, Ezra. I promise you that."

"Well, good. It _is_ somehow macabre to be doing this with a dead body nearby, I suppose." Ezra ran his fingers through Chris' hair, smiling when the gunslinger leaned into the caress like a kitten. He teased, "I do hope you would not start a fire you don't intend to extinguish?" Ezra smiled, inviting Chris' lips for another brief but fiery kiss.

"Ezra, I have no intention of ever letting this fire go out."

* * *

Neither Ezra nor Chris got much sleep for the rest of the night. After they'd buried Hadley, they talked for hours, until one or both of them dozed off from sheer exhaustion. When they woke again, they continued to talk - it was as though they were making up for all that silence that had been leading to so many misunderstandings between them.

When the sun came up, Chris took off Ezra's bandage and checked his wound again. The infection had receded, and he re-dressed the wound carefully.

"I think Mr Jackson will be proud of you," Ezra praised.

Chris chuckled. "We'll see. I hope I didn't do anything that slowed down the healing. I'm kind of in a hurry for you to get better."

"Really?" Ezra teased.

"Really."

"Then I shall endeavor to make a speedy recovery." Moving into Chris' arms, Ezra added in a husky voice, "Especially for you."

Chris kissed him tenderly, both his hands at Ezra's nape. "The sooner we get home, the better," he said breathlessly, massaging the soft skin with his fingertips. "I'm not sure how much longer I can keep my hands off you."

"Then we'd best be getting on our way." Ezra withdrew with a smile - a supremely contented smile.

Chris nodded, stunned into silence by the sight. Damn, but Ezra was one handsome man.

They packed up, and then they got on their way. They had made good time the previous day. If they traveled at a steady speed, they would be able to make it to Four Corners before nightfall.

* * *

Riding into town, they were greeted by Buck, who'd only just returned himself.

"Hey there!" he exclaimed, leading his horse to trot alongside theirs. "Ain't you two back a little early?"

"Complications," Chris said simply.

"I would call that a definite understatement," Ezra added.

Buck was curious. "What kind?"

"The kind that needs tellin' to the judge right now." Chris gave his friend a serious look. "Are the others all in town?"

"Vin ain't back yet, but everyone else, yeah. Hey, what's goin' on?"

"Tell Nathan he has a gun shot wound to look at. That's even more urgent than Judge Travis."

"I don't like the sound of that!" Buck frowned. "Who's been shot?"

"I have, Mr Wilmington. And as for having the wound looked at..." Ezra turned to face Chris. "It can wait until after we've seen the judge."

"I told you I ain't takin' chances with you, Ezra." Chris put on his most determined, no-argument face, but he hadn't counted on Ezra's obstinacy.

"Shit, Ezra!" Buck exclaimed. "You hurt bad?"

Shaking his head, Ezra - warmed by the affectionate concern in his friend's voice - said, "Thanks to Mr Larabee, I have been well taken care of." Turning to Chris, he added with a smirk, "Which is why my visit to Mr Jackson can wait until after we're done with the administrative details."

Growling low in his throat, Chris gave in. "All right then, but darn, you're stubborn, Ez." His voice was soft, causing Buck to listen up. "I should have thought of that before taking up with you," Chris added with a smile at Ezra, enjoying the dumbfounded look on his face.

They had talked about how to spring the news on the others last night, but while they had agreed to tell them, Ezra had been unwilling to hope for Chris to be that secure and easy about it. He felt warm all over.

"Hey! Take up with him? What does that mean, Chris?" Buck asked, his eyes sparkling.

"Whatever you're thinking, Buck, you're probably thinkin' right." Chris grinned.

"Alright!!" Buck let out a whoop, tossing his hat in the air and catching it again.

"To what should we attribute this abundance of mirth, Mr Wilmington?" Ezra smirked.

"Oh hell, Ezra. If you mean, why am I happy? Finally, this old grouch - no offence, Chris - is gonna have a darn good reason not to be so grouchy." Buck grinned.

"Buck?" Chris said, squinting at his friend.

"Yeah, old dog?" Buck asked good-naturedly.

"Shut up!"

Laughing out loud, Buck tugged at his horse's reins, turned and rode off to see Nathan.

Exchanging an amused glance, Ezra and Chris continued to Mary's place, where they knew they'd find Judge Travis.

* * *

Travis wasn't overly concerned about Hadley's demise. In fact, he was far more concerned with Ezra's well-being. "You'd better get Nathan to take a look at that right away, Ezra," he said.

"That is my intention, Your Honour." Ezra nodded.

"Very well, then." Travis checked his pocketwatch. "I'll go to the telegraph office. Better let Sheriff Hicks over in Muerte know that he can use his cell otherwise now."

"Judge Travis." Chris tipped his hat and headed for the door, making sure Ezra was following.

"Thank you, gentlemen."

Ezra nodded, and together, he and Chris went to see Nathan.

* * *

"You did good, Chris," Nathan said when he looked over the wound soon after. "That could have been nasty."

"Could have been?" Ezra asked, feigning shock. "Let me tell you, Mr Jackson, that being shot at is not something I would place on my list of favourite things to do." With a smile at Chris, he added, "To say nothing of the waste of a perfectly good wardrobe."

Chris returned the smile. "Being shirtless can have its advantages."

Nathan looked from one to the other, confused by their light-hearted banter. This was Chris and Ezra - he didn't think they exchanged so much as a greeting when no one was listening. He was about to get another surprise.

"How long 'til he's all healed, Nathan?" Chris asked with genuine concern and something like impatience in his voice.

"If he takes care of it and lets me change the bandage every day, probably about a week."

Ezra and Chris groaned in complete unison.

"A week? Mr Jackson, you cannot be serious." Ezra sounded rather frustrated.

"That don't mean you can't move around, Ezra," Nathan re-assured, having no idea why a week should be such a big thing.

Chris simply couldn't face this prospect. Carefully choosing his words - Ezra's influence taking over already - he asked, "When you say he can move around, Nathan, does that mean he could... exercise?"

Ezra laughed out loud, holding his hand to the bandage so the wound wouldn't split. He was unable to decide whether Chris' choice of words or Nathan's reaction to them were worse.

"What the hell kind of exercise would Ezra ever be doin', Chris?" Nathan asked, more confused than ever. Something real weird was going on here. "Walking from the boarding house to the Saloon and back don't count as exercise."

Chris fell into the chair by the side of the bed Ezra sat on, holding his head in his hands. He thought hard before looking up and trying again. "What about riding? Can he ride?"

Ezra's laughing fit only got worse, and Ezra got seriously worried about the wound. He'd never imagined that Chris, of all people, could provide so much humour.

Not surprisingly, Nathan remained as stern as ever. "He rode here, didn't he?" he pointed out, causing Chris to nod eagerly. "I guess ridin' is alright then."

"Right." Chris stood so fast, he damn near sent his chair tumbling backwards. "Ezra and I gotta go, Nathan. Thanks for takin' care of him."

Ezra - his eyes still moist with tears of laughter - got up quickly. He had no intention of making Chris wait any longer. "Yes, thank you indeed, Mr Jackson," he agreed politely.

Nathan looked from one of them to the other, frowning. "What are you two in such a hurry for? Where are you goin'?"

Chris grabbed Ezra's arm and tugged gently, steering him to the door. Once there, he turned and said, "For a ride."

* * *

As soon as Nathan's door shut behind them, Ezra provided Chris with something of a shock. "I think I shall take a trip to the bathhouse."

Chris winced as if he'd been struck. "What? Ezra, I sure hope you're teasin'?"

"Not at all, Chris. We have been out riding for days. I do not intend to... well, go for another ride..." he chuckled, "before I have not freshened up properly, with soap."

"Look, Ezra," Chris said, barely hiding the desperation in his voice. "I'll be more than happy to lick you clean, but don't do this to me!"

Shivering at the rather agreeable, if ridiculous, suggestion, Ezra said with a smile, "Imagine how much more pleasant the ride will be for the anticipation."

Chris looked as though he'd been struck by lightning, and Ezra took pity on him. Somewhat. They had made their way down the stairs leading to Nathan's room, and without warning, Ezra pulled Chris around the corner of the building with him, where he pressed him hard up against the wall and took his lips in a searing kiss.

Chris groaned, the unexpectedly passionate show of affection instantly working on his body. He pulled Ezra close, opening up to him and allowing him to draw and suck on his tongue fiercely - a maneuver which caused him to harden instantly. Painfully.

Ezra felt the reaction against his own arousal and reached between them, gripping the solid bulge in Chris' pants and pressing his palm against it, rubbing sensually up and down. The groan this caused heated his own blood further, and he knew that if he didn't stop right away, he'd be taking Chris right there and then. He drew back quickly, supporting himself with his hands against Chris' heaving chest.

"I do believe this will be the quickest bath on record." His resolve was in serious jeopardy, faced with the simmering blue of Chris' eyes, dark with passion and need.

"It had better be," Chris growled, his voice a low rumble. "I'm gonna be in your room in half an hour, Ezra, and if you're not there, I'll find you wherever you are, and I won't give a damn who's watching."

With a nervous laugh, Ezra said, "Half an hour. Don't be late."

Chris leaned heavily against the wall, watching Ezra walk away towards the bathhouse. And he decided he'd make good use of that half hour himself.

* * *

Right on time, Chris walked up to Ezra's room, when he ran into J. D. in the hall.

"Hey Chris!" the youth exclaimed, clearly happy to see him.

"J. D." Chris tried to keep walking, but J. D. didn't budge.

"Ezra okay? Buck said he's been wounded." J. D. asked, concern lacing his voice.

"Yeah." Knowing he was being rude, Chris added gently, "He's fine, J. D. Nathan looked him over." He smiled at J. D. reassuringly.

"That's good." J. D. said, relieved. "You going to see him? Make sure he's okay?"

"Something like that."

"Hey J. D.! Chris!" Buck's voice came from further down the hall.

Chris groaned.

"Buck, Chris says that Ezra is okay," J. D. declared, beaming.

"That's great!" Buck smiled, catching Chris' glare. Then he caught something else and, leaning forward, he sniffed the air. "Why Chris, old dog, you smell like a waterfall in spring. What's the occasion?"

"Buck!" Chris exclaimed in exasperation, his fuse burning down quickly.

Figuring it out, Buck took in his friend's freshly washed and dressed appearance, his proximity to Ezra's door, and grinned. "Come on, J. D. Chris has some business to attend to."

"He's going to check on Ezra," J. D. stated.

"Yeah, something like that," Buck confirmed and, with a wink at Chris, he slung his arm around J. D.'s shoulder and steered him away and down the hall.

Chris sighed. "Finally."

* * *

When he entered Ezra's room, Chris found himself in the dark. Damn! He wasn't back yet.

But just as he was about to leave again to keep his earlier promise - or threat, depending which way one looked at it - he found his way blocked.

"Where do you think you're going, cowboy?"

The smooth drawl instantly worked its magic on Chris. He grinned in the dark. "Straight to hell, I s'pose." He reached out, finding his arms instantly filled with a muscular body, still warm and moist from the recent bath.

"You'd better be takin' me with you then." Ezra moved against him, not wasting any time rekindling the fire.

They were in the centre of the room, but Chris backed Ezra against the wall this time, bent on his revenge for the way the gambler had teased him outside earlier. "All you had to do was ask," he rumbled, leaning down until his face touched the side of Ezra's neck. He inhaled deeply. "Damn, I want you!"

Ezra moaned when he felt a hungry mouth fastening on his skin. He shifted, offering his throat to Chris submissively.

Chris cupped Ezra's nape, holding his head to one side while he licked and kissed his way up his neck. The room was too dark to actually see Ezra, but the gambler's scent filled his nose, and his heat sent shivers down his spine.

Ezra began to roll his hips, grinding against Chris. He decided to take pity on him, wondering if Chris had been in a state of semi-arousal for the past half hour as well. His hand cupped the bulge in Chris' trousers as it had before, only this time, the movements were slower and more insistent. He made it clear he had no intention of leaving him in a tight spot this time.

Chris pushed into the touch, tugging Ezra's shirt out of his pants. He fumbled with the buttons with one hand for as long as he could stand it, before he withdrew with an impatient growl and used both hands, making quick work of the stubborn garment.

Ezra swayed slightly, his breaths coming fast and heavy, while he allowed himself to be undressed. His jacket was pulled off him quickly - he had foregone the vest for once - and his shirt followed soon after, leaving his upper body exposed to Chris' hot, roaming hands. "What about you?" he asked huskily, his skin burning from the sensual caresses.

"Soon." Chris sank down on one knee, kissing the smooth plane of Ezra's stomach while his hands went to work on Ezra's trousers. He succeeded faster than he had with the shirt, desperation forcing him to be more efficient.

"Chris..." Ezra sighed when warm hands slid his trousers down his hips and pressed against the skin of his groin, slowly inching their way towards his straining arousal.

Chris moved forward, his lips barely touching the hard, silky shaft while his fingertips trailed along the underside, steering it towards his parting lips. And then he took Ezra deep into his throat, causing a groan that very nearly proved to be his own undoing. He felt fingers tangling in his hair and gripped Ezra's hips tight, now working on him in earnest.

"Oh heavens! Chris!" Ezra moaned, feeling his legs slowly give way beneath him. He wished he'd left a lamp burning, because he'd have given anything for the sight of Chris on his knees in front of him, using that irresistible mouth to bring him to a far too soon, but unavoidable climax.

Mere moments later, Chris felt the shudder running through Ezra's body, and when his mouth filled with his lover's burning seed, he swallowed hungrily, not willing to waste a single drop.

Ezra slumped, glad that Chris was able to support him and lead him to the bed before he passed out again. He'd been doing too much of that lately. "That was meant to last longer," he drawled lethargically.

"It will next time," Chris assured him, efficiently stripping him of the remainder of his clothing while he himself was still fully dressed. He moved to lie on top of Ezra, whose naked form lay sprawled across the bed. "You're delicious," he murmured softly, licking the corners of Ezra's mouth before sliding his tongue over the closed lips, opening them to his exploration.

All through the kiss, Ezra tugged at the closure of Chris' trousers, finally successfully tugging the fabric down the slim hips, grateful when Chris' co-operated with well-timed shifts of his body. He rid him of his shirt as well, tossing it carelessly off the bed.

When they were at last skin to skin, Ezra sighed into Chris' mouth, parting his legs to accommodate him before sliding his arms around the lean waist to draw Chris hard against himself. He felt his erection push against his own body, sliding naturally to the sensitive spot behind his balls.

"I swear, Chris, if you don't take me now..." Ezra began, not quite in control of his smooth voice.

Chris growled, reluctantly removing one hand from Ezra's smooth chest to reach for the bedside table, fumbling for something... anything he could use to ease the way.

"Wait." Ezra shifted below him, the slide of hot, slick skin against hot, slick skin stopping the movements of both of them for an instant. "The lamp..." Ezra finally managed, extracting himself from Chris' crushing embrace.

When he lit the oil lamp, Chris let out a gasp. His eyes roamed over every inch of Ezra's skin, while the gambler retrieved a small container from the bedside table.

Turning to triumphantly present the tub of cream to Chris, Ezra was caught in the intensity of the gleaming blue eyes. The admiration and passion there might have frightened him only days ago. But he knew what Chris' feelings for him were now, and he knew that he returned them. Licking his lips, he went to pass the cream to Chris, but decided against it.

Chris' eyes widened, his breaths coming in short gasps when Ezra coated his own hands with the milky salve and reached between them to grasp Chris' shaft, coating it smoothly while turning the touch into a caress. The passion-filled green eyes followed every movement of his agile fingers, and the tongue snaking out to moisten suddenly too dry lips forced Chris to close his eyes so he wouldn't come before he had even entered that tempting body. "Hurry," he growled, and Ezra obliged before dropping the now half-empty container next to the bed.

Surrendering to Chris' desperate kisses and demanding hands, Ezra moulded his body to his lover's, his legs wrapping around Chris' lean hips, while he waited for that first moment when Chris would slide into him.

And then, hot, hard flesh impaled him, causing at first pain, and then sheer, utter bliss. He clawed at Chris' back, pushing towards him until he felt him all the way inside, nudging that spot deep inside. He kept repeating Chris' name over and over, moving rhythmically against that solid body taking possession of him so deliciously.

Chris took him to the edge time and again, until they were both on the verge of passing out. Then, just before he could no longer hold on, he whispered close to Ezra's ear, "Don't you ever leave me."

With a sigh, Ezra breathed, "Never." Then he was gripped by shudders of pure pleasure, shaking his whole body.

Chris thrust harder... once, twice, three times more, and he filled Ezra, groaning loudly as he came, just before he felt Ezra's seed dowsing his stomach.

* * *

"I don't believe I ever imagined this would happen," Ezra admitted when they lay in each others' arms later on.

"Regrets?" Chris asked hesitantly.

"Yes." Ezra quickly turned his head and smiled into the suddenly fearful blue eyes. "Regrets that it's taken us this long." When he saw the relief his words caused, he added, "We will simply need to make up for lost time."

Sliding one hard-muscled leg between his lover's thighs, Chris said teasingly, "I'm all for starting right now."

"You've got yourself a deal, Mr Larabee." Ezra sought out Chris' mouth, kissing him long and hard until their lips parted for a gasping breath.

"I must be in love," Chris stated with a smirk. "To make a deal with a gambler."

Ezra smiled. "You know you're safe to do so. You trust me."

"With my heart and soul, Ezra."

  


THE END


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